Doux Anniversaire
by cruisedirector
Summary: Javert faces a treacherous foe - his sixtieth birthday.


_Warning: Slash, established relationship._

Even far down the street, Valjean could see that Javert was in a black mood. Though the sky had not yet grown dark, with orange and pink clouds mixed among the blue and violet of the evening, Javert looked as if a raincloud had settled over his head, putting his face in shadow and causing him to scowl.

"What's the matter?" asked Valjean, holding the door for him and reaching to take his hat.

"Those _fils de putain_ at the Préfecture," growled Javert, not even offering Valjean his customary kiss of greeting. "I let slip that it was my birthday."

At this, Valjean could not help smiling. "Ah. Did they commit some great act of cruelty such as bringing you pastries? Or, heaven forbid, shout out 'Joyeux Anniversaire!'?"

"Oh yes, they served me biscuits and sang to me, and someone put a flower in my hat." Javert gestured at the hat in irritation. There was no flower in it now; if indeed there had been, Valjean suspected that it lay trampled in some grassy corner outside the police headquarters.

"I'm sure they only meant to be kind. And if they did not bring you pastries, come into the kitchen. Cosette stopped by and brought jésuites for you. She said to give you this." Since Javert was still standing stiffly beside the door, Valjean leaned over and kissed his cheek, reaching to help him out of his greatcoat.

Not even the promise of a dessert with almonds made Javert smile. "Perhaps she means it as a hint that at my age, I should become a monk, not share a house with her revered father."

The thought of Javert as a monk startled Valjean to laughter. "I fear Cosette realizes that you were never destined for the Church. Though I hope she does not guess just how much our behavior would scandalize the priests." He winked, sliding his arm through Javert's, hoping that putting some food in his belly would lighten his mood.

"At my age, I may be fit for little else," growled Javert. Depositing him at the table, Valjean handed him a glass of wine. "Do you realize that my superior is nine years younger than I am? Do you know what he said? The lazy fool believes it is time that I thought about my retirement."

Valjean, who had bent over to serve the _pot au feu_, glanced up at Javert's lowered brows. "Is that what has you so upset? I have been telling you the same thing for five years."

"I am not old enough to retire!" Javert rubbed at his eyes. "Lemarchal did not believe it was my birthday and asked Bertolette to look it up. At first they thought the papers were forged - none of them believed I could be so old." For a moment Javert looked proud of himself. "But now they all know that I am sixty."

"And this is a terrible thing?" asked Valjean lightly, carrying bowls and bread to the table. "Javert, you complain constantly about the work. There are twice as many papers to fill out and three times as many idiots, as you say, for you to supervise. And if your muscles are going to be sore for two days, I can think of better ways to accomplish it than struggling with a gamin who has stolen a moth-eaten cap."

"He said he stole it because he liked the color, not because he was cold," Javert reminded him, tearing off a piece of bread. He was always much crankier when he was hungry. "What do you imagine I would do all day if I retired?" When Valjean pushed his tongue suggestively against his cheek, Javert popped a bite of bread into his mouth. "We are too old to do that all day," he said around the mouthful.

"We are not, as I would be happy to demonstrate. But when do you imagine you will do all the things you talk about doing, if not after you retire? If you continue as you are, you will never finish your memoirs. And we will never visit the temples in Carnac."

"They are not temples. The stones represent the night sky." Ever since Javert had read that theory, he had wished to see the enormous arrangement of ancient boulders.

"You can write about that, too, when we return. At least think about it, as the lazy fool said. It would give us more time for so many other pleasures - and as you are so fond of reminding me, I am older than you." Valjean winked at Javert. "I hope you don't intend to wait until after I'm gone to write your memoirs. I want to read them."

"Don't make jokes about that," ordered Javert after swallowing a mouthful of stew. "If you dare to die before me, I will describe every act of wickedness to which you ever coaxed me."

"That could take years. You had better get started right away." With a laugh, Valjean rose and went to get more stew for himself. They were celebrating Javert's birthday, so he was entitled to eat as much as he wished. "Shall I bring the jésuites? Or would you prefer choux à la crème?"

He had winked and wagged his hips as he spoke, and his meaning was not lost upon Javert, who finally offered him a smile. "You know very well that since I have discovered the madeleine, I have enjoyed no other dessert."


End file.
